


After All This Time

by QueenPersephoneofHades



Category: HetaOni, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Humor, M/M, Romance, the graphic stuff is only in chapter three
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenPersephoneofHades/pseuds/QueenPersephoneofHades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-you would think they'd know. But love isn't always easy. Tumblr GerIta Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clueless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young love is an incredible thing; unless the two who are in love are too dense to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, me being me, I threw in my other Hetalia OTP into the story without a second thought.

" _Je jure devant Dieu ce est dégoûtant!_ "

"Pardon?" Arthur blinked, looking up from his papers in bewilderment at the unnaturally infuriated Frenchman glowering beside him.

"Just  **look** at those two!" Francis hissed, waving a hand at the other end of the table with far less flare than normal.

Unperturbed, the shorter of the two allowed his eyes to trail across the conference room, spying a rather resigned looking Germany dutifully ignoring a far too clingy Italy, who had attached to his arm like a limpet, grip not relaxing in the slightest even as the larger man sighed heavily.

Raising one overly fuzzy eyebrow, Arthur turned back to Francis with a shrug. "So, what about them? They always do that. And you never seem to have a problem clinging on to me when we're-"

"It's not the hugging that's the problem,  _mon ami,_ it's the fact that they're do damn  **clueless!** " growled Francis, leaning back in his chair and pinching his nose in utter frustration.

Arthur, starting to see what exactly his lover was getting at, hummed quietly. "You never did like seeing young love go to waste," he said, barely resisting the urge to smirk at Francis as he groaned.

"It makes me physically ill, the way they carry on like that when they don't see what's right in front of them!  _Comment peut-on être aussi stupide?!_ "

"If I recall, it took more than a few centuries for you to confess to me, and many more for me to finally reciprocate. These things take time, you git. I thought you knew that?" Arthur calmly stated, allowing his attention to slip slightly as memories of those wasted years fighting returned to the surface of his mind. Compared to the two of them, Germany and Italy were moving at a far faster rate.

Francis seemed to deflate, all of the anger seeming to disappear as he slumped over dramatically in defeat. "I  **do**  know that, but it gets so frustrating… seeing them together but knowing they don't see it for what it truly is…  _il est tellement ridicule… on pourrait penser qu'ils pouvaient le voir…_ "

Arthur sympathetically patted the older man's shoulder, not even bothering to look up from his work. "They'll figure it out."

Across the room, Italy darted up to give Germany a kiss on the cheek, happily "Ve~!"ing as he pulled away. "Doitsu, can we get pasta later?"

Germany, who had refocused on his own work until that moment, didn't even react to the contact of lips on skin. " _Ja,_  just let me finish this report."

At the opposite end of the table, a loud  _wham!_ sounded as France's head hit the table, England's badly concealed snickers accompanying the action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No matter how much France loves love and romance and happiness, he's probably the biggest shipper aside from Hungary. You can't tell me he wouldn't get pissed if his OTP couldn't figure themselves out. XD
> 
> French translations (used google translate, probably not accurate):  
> Je jure devant Dieu ce est dégoûtant! = I swear to God it's disgusting!  
> Comment peut-on être aussi stupide?! = How can you be so stupid?!  
> il est tellement ridicule… on pourrait penser qu'ils pouvaient le voir… = It is so ridiculous… you would think they could see…


	2. First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He remembers fields of grass and days of leisure in between tireless work and unending war; and he remembers a boy pressing their lips together as a last good-bye.

The world is full of many ‘first’s.

                First breath, first word, first pet, first job, first friend, first love, first kiss…

                For Italy Veneziano, those last two just so happened to coincide.

                He didn’t like to reminisce on “could have beens” very often – they were far too sad, and nobody liked sad; especially him – but sometimes, when Germany gave him the day off from training and he was left to his own devices… he couldn’t help but dredge up the old aches and pains.

                The land and even the country was completely different from the one he remembered from so long ago, the people and buildings having forgotten all that had once stood here, but Italy didn’t forget.

                He couldn’t forget that in this land, not far from where Germany preferred to train, a grand house had once stood overlooking the countryside. And in that grand house, had been a strict man with a well-honed mastery over the piano, a woman, ever-faithful, who had remained at his side at all hours of the day, and… once, a very long time ago, a boy had lived there too.

                Two boys, really, but the elder was often so busy leading his armies and conquering new territories that he hardly ever had the time or the interest to return to the house, no matter how grand it was.

                And in that house, one boy worked as a servant, cleaning, dusting, and organizing the entire mansion in between siestas and pasta smugglings, while the other trained in combat, geography, and language, in preparation to one day rule the continent.

                Until one day, the young master of the house asked the servant to teach him to paint.

                Those happy days blissfully spent in the fields surrounding the house, tracking down animals to use as an example and painting the sunset when the aforementioned beasts finally fled, had ended far too quickly. War brewed on the horizon, and as the master of these lands, the elder boy had left to face it head on…

But not without bestowing the young servant with his first kiss, and leaving with the heart of the younger unknowingly tucked in his cape along with the push-broom he’d received in thanks.

Italy leaned back and sighed, staring up at a cloud as the memory whisked by in his mind.

It had been so long since… he was no longer a mere servant, and he’d kissed more than a few people in between now and then, but… he’d never found his heart again.

Not since Holy Rome had marched with his men, waving at him from afar and shouting about his imminent return.

‘ _Ve… what could we have been, if he came back..?_ ’ he thought, idly swiping the familiar feeling of tears from his eyes.

He could never think about the Holy Roman Empire without getting a bit teary-eyed, but it was hard to avoid the subject when the landscape looked so familiar; it wasn’t a perfect duplicate of the field he and Holy Rome had said farewell to each other in, but it was pretty darn close if you asked Feliciano.

Bringing his knees up to his chest, he sighed once again, a wistful sort of sigh that all people who know the sting of lost love are familiar with. He sat there, stewing in silence, for quite a while, before a loud, booming voice calling his name startled him into looking up.

“Ve~! Germany!” he gasped, springing to his feet as quickly as he could, beaming widely as the taller nation came up to him panting slightly. “Did you need something?! Wait, I didn’t miss another training session, did I?! I could have sworn you let me off the hook today, I’m sorry if-!”

“Relax, I’m not mad Italy,” Ludwig cut him off swiftly, far too aware of the string of apologies that would erupt if he allowed the other to continue, “I didn’t even expect to see you here- hey, why are you crying?!”

Blinking at the startled blonde’s half-flustered expression, Feliciano jumped and swiped at his face, discovering that a trail of moisture had remained on his cheek despite his earlier attempt to remove it. “O-oh, it’s nothing! Just stared at the sun for a second too long, ve~!”

Luckily, he was known to do such ridiculous things on occasion, and the taller nation bought the excuse without further prompting, though he did sigh in familiar exasperation. “Be sure not to do that from now on. Going blind would be incredibly detrimental to the training regimen I have planned for the next few weeks,” he grumbled.

Veneziano, internally cheering that such a lie was bought, just nodded his head, wide smile spreading across his face. “I’m fine, Doitsu~! Anyway, did you need something?”

Ludwig, a small smile curling his lips, shook his head. “ _Nein._ Just because I gave you the day off doesn’t mean I need to slack off; I was just going for a jog.”

“Do you want some company?” Italy offered, though inwardly he was suppressing sobs of exhaustion, already dreading the burning in his legs and squeezing of his lungs; just because he was fast didn’t mean he enjoyed the activity!

Germany rolled his eyes, most likely already aware of which direction Italy’s thoughts were heading. “You’d drop within ten minutes without me yelling at you, and I gave you the day off; feel free to do as you wish. So long as it does not include blinding yourself with the sun,” he amended.

Sighing in relief at the refusal, Italy giggled and launched himself at the blonde, arms locking around his neck as he sang, “Thank you, Doitsu~!” and moved to peck him on the cheek as he often did.

However, at that very moment, Ludwig turned his head – whether to offer a scathing remark about his laziness or berate him about personal space _again,_ he didn’t know –and quite suddenly, it wasn’t just a peck on the cheek.

Veneziano barely had a second to register Germany’s widening eyes and think ‘ _Whoopsie, this is the first time I **actually** kissed him,_’ before skin met skin and all coherent thought in his head _stopped, rewound-_

**_it couldn’t be_ **

_over 150 years ago_

**_there was just no way_ **

_in a field very much like this one_

**_it was impossible_ **

_saying good-bye instead of thank you_

**_France said that he_ **

_another first kiss, with another boy with blue eyes_ (like the sky before a storm) _and blonde hair_ (that reminded him of the wheat fields back home)

**_he would’ve come back for me sooner; he promised_ **

_the feel of a forehead touching his, the other boy’s eyes glassy and unfocused_

**_where has he been what happened to him no no this isn’t right_ **

_“I’ve wanted to do that since the tenth century”_

**_why didn’t you come back for me I waited so long oh God-_ **

“ _Sei qui,_ ” he whispered, eyes wide open and staring, arms having slackened their grip and taking a step back, raising one hand to lightly brush his lips

_because no matter how much time passed or how many others he’d kissed, he knew those lips **anywhere**_.

“I-Italy,” Ludwig stammered, cheeks stained with a dark red he couldn’t recall ever seeing on his face before

_not on this face; on a smaller, rounder face that blushed crimson every time he caught sight of him._

Feliciano felt heat rise up in his own cheeks, even as a spike of ice drilled into his spine

**_Sei qui, sei qui, sei veramente qui questa volta, Dio mio è davvero!_ **

_No, no, wait, you’re here but you’re not-! Why did you never- non ti ricordi hai promesso di tornare dove eravate?!_

Ludwig raised a hand when Italy’s face drained of color, but the smaller nation backed away before he could touch him.

“ _Mi dispiace,_ ” he whispered, already feeling the familiar burn in his eyes – _crying, always his default reaction to any sort of problem, no wonder he hadn’t come back for him-_

“Italy-!” Germany started, voice strained and hoarse as if he was dehydrated in the desert, but Veneziano was already moving, spinning around and fleeing across the field, deaf to Ludwig’s shouts for him to stop, come back, _what’s wrong-_

And tears streamed steadily down the young man’s cheeks as he realized.

**_Oh mio Dio, è vivo. È vivo e lui non è tornato per me._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My God, the ANGST. This is possibly the best angsty romance one-shot I’ve ever written, so please tell me what you thought about it!  
> Italian translations (used google translate, probably not accurate):  
> Sei qui = You’re here.  
> Sei qui, sei qui, sei veramente qui questa volta, Dio mio è davvero! = You're here, you're here, you're really here this time, Oh my God!  
> non ti ricordi hai promesso di tornare dove eravate?! = Why didn’t you remember why didn’t you come back?!  
> Mi dispiace = I’m sorry.  
> Oh mio Dio, è vivo . È vivo e lui non è tornato per me = Oh my God, he’s alive. He’s alive and didn’t come back for me.


	3. The Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The others all spoke of false memories, but these seem more like visions of hell.

_Burning lungs, gasping breath, sweat dripping down his face-_

_“-when you get out, just keep running-”_

_legs shaking, going numb-_

_“-don’t look back for anything, don’t wait for me-”_

_limbs completely exhausted, throat sore, eyes wet; wait, why, what could possibly make him-?!_

_“-it was really scary… but it was fun too.”_

_familiar blue, flash of grey, color of the sky rapidly staining red,_ red, **_red_**

‘ _ITALY!_ ’

Only the most ingrained wartime instincts kept the scream buried within his throat.

Ludwig sat, eyes wide and blank, fists clenched hard and jaw locked so tightly his teeth creaked suspiciously.

The nightmare – broken and disjointed as it had been, blurs of motion and overloading senses and pain, _pain,_ **pain** caused by deep **_red_** splattered across blue – was already fading fast, the words uttered by the shaking voice having been lost in the transition from asleep to awake.

But even unable to recall the words, Ludwig immediately recognized the terrified voice that had been urging him to do- something.

Turning his head slowly, Germany let his eyes sweep the darkened room – this safe room that he slaved over himself, building and melding with his own two hands in an attempt to make a haven for the Axis (and now, the Allies as well) within this accursed mansion – taking in the exhausted forms of some of the greatest superpowers in the world, until they settled on the one directly beside him; Italy, the ever-smiling _Narr_ , curled up like a cat around his pillow as if it were a beloved toy.

A wave of relief hit the larger nation like a train, making him slump over, arms shaking with the effort it took not to lunge toward the smaller man and crush him against his chest.

It had been so _real_ – he could barely remember anything of it, but the lucidity of the experience had failed to fade – he actually felt just as weary as he had in the dream, as if he had run a marathon without stretching; and Italy’s voice- what had he been saying-?

Germany gritted his teeth, dragging a hand across his face.

He couldn’t remember much else.

‘ _Was in Gottes Namen war das?_ ’ he thought, even as he created a hypothesis; Japan and the others _had_ been mentioning false memories and bizarre hallucinations since the breaking of the clocks… perhaps that was it…

So far, Ludwig had seemed immune to such flashbacks, but now it seemed-

‘ _Stop it,_ ’ he ordered himself roughly, shaking his head hard. ‘ _We already agreed such things were false. Dwelling on it won’t change anything._ ’

But even so…

_red, terrible **red,** dripping and gushing and oozing everywhere, warm life-giving liquid seeping into his pants as he knelt, cradling something – no, some_one – _in his arms, throat tearing as he screamed,_ screamed, **_screamed-_**

‘ _GENUG!_ ’ Just barely resisting snarling the word aloud, Germany cut off the memory before it could fully surface. ‘ _It was a paranoid vision, nothing more! We are safe here- **he** is safe here- that **Thing** cannot touch him!_’

But he still ended up triple-checking the solid steel door before returning to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Muahaha… I always have to make everything dark, it’s never allowed to be light and happy in my fics. Sorry!  
> German translations (used google translate, probably not accurate):  
> Narr = fool  
> Was in Gottes Namen war das? = What in God’s name was that?  
> Genug! = Enough!


	4. of the Looking Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t recall any other vow that was more important than this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to avoid confusion, this is a continuation of 'the Other Side' from Italy's POV. It's still HetaOni, so expect feels.

The jolt of movement beside him was more than enough torouse Italy from an uneasy half-consciousness, one eye snapping open automatically to find Germany sitting up in bed, blonde hair unkempt and eyes distant and horrified.

Resisting the urge to let out a melancholy sigh, for he was well-versed in such a nightly ritual, Italy let his eye close and assumed his ‘normal’ sleeping position, curling up with his pillow and smiling vacantly.

It did the trick; after some rustling from the bed beside his, the patter of feet drifted across the floorboards of the room, heading in the direction of the safe room’s only entrance.

However, as Ludwig tiptoed in between the beds, his fingers, feather-light, brushed across Veneziano’s forehead, almost shaking.

The urge to grimace at Germany’s pain – even stronger, the desire to sit up and latch onto him in a hug, reassure him of his presence – was hard to withstand, but he knew very well how both actions would make the situation deteriorate, so he remained still, even as the footsteps receded.

The blissful expression slid off his face as his grip on his pillow tightened, lips pressing into a thin line.

Ludwig’s flashbacks to previous time loops – for that’s what they were, he was sure of it – always became worse at night, when he was unconscious and unable to resist falling into them, but there was nothing Italy could do for him; alerting the other man to his knowledge of them would only get him shut out in an attempt to be strong, and the time loops where such a thing happened were perhaps the most depressing to relive again and again.

“… Italy?” the blonde-in-question’s voice asked, startling him – he hadn’t heard him coming back; that was a first – making him blink his eyes open to see the taller nation having returned, expression pensive.

“… Doitsu,” he murmured, keeping his voice down, well aware of the other nations packed into this room with them. “Sorry. I had a bad dream.”

Germany’s eyes narrowed, his face twisting between sad and expectant, before a reluctant and clearly-forced smile quickly took its place. “It’s no problem. I’m not surprised; this mansion is… not a nice place.”

‘ _Non avete idea,_ ’ Italy thought even as he grinned back at the larger nation. “Yeah, but I’m sure we’ll get out of here soon! And then we can all go to Japan’s house and eat pasta~!”

Ludwig’s smile became more natural, relief tracing the edges of his mouth as he walked to his own bed. “Sure we will. We’ll have all the pasta you could ever want, and then we’ll run one hundred laps to burn off all the carbs we consumed.”

“Aw, take all the fun out of it~!” Veneziano pouted, trying to remember the last time they’d all been together, relaxing like the old days. He drew a blank, despite his best efforts; too many other memories crammed into his head, the layout of the house memorized a thousand times over, the  _Thing’s_  regular hunting pattern, more important things than lazy days spent in the sun.

Germany’s smile faltered slightly, seeming to think of something, before it returned full force and he lifted one hand and offered it to the smaller nation, who stared at him for a moment in surprise. “Laps or no laps, pasta or no pasta, let’s make it a promise, okay? We’ll get out and go to Japan’s house,  _ja?_ ”

Italy surreptitiously bit his lip – ‘ _Don’t tear up now! He’ll think something is up!_ ’ – and despite the fact that  _something was **very much** up_, he grinned wide enough to make his cheeks hurt – his face far too unaccustomed to such an action – and lifted his own hand.

“Ve~ yeah!” he promised.

It was the most important promise he could ever remember making

_because the other promise, the **most important** promise, made in a field of flowers in a country on the brink of war, was gone now_

_he’d forgotten it centuries ago_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:… this is seriously killing me, I swear. When I started these stories on Sunday, I thought this would be a fun week of fluff and cuteness, and now I’m dying of feels. DX  
> Italian translation (used google translate, probably not accurate):  
> Non avete idea = You have no idea.


	5. Historical Landmark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, he thinks she is the work of art here.

“Come on, come on! It’s this way~!”

“Wait for me, Italia~! We don’t want to get lost!”

The Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation could feel a gnawing pang of unease grow in his stomach as he watched his two servants, the northern half of Italy and Hungary, laughingly maneuver their way through the crowded streets of Rome.

Actual Rome.

The Rome for which he was named and founded after.

One would think he’d be more preoccupied with _that_ whole existential crisis waiting to happen, but no; instead, he was focusing on keeping his two maids in sight as they dashed through the sea of legs and bodies.

“Shouldn’t we stop them?” he asked pensively, craning his neck back so as to look Austria in the eye as the taller nation sighed.

“We probably should, though Italy would not appreciate it. It’s been quite a few decades since she set foot in her own capital; believe me when I say even a brief visit, no matter how short, can be a real breath of fresh air at times. So long as Hungary remains with her, I don’t see much of a problem.”

A spike of guilt buried into Holy Rome’s gut – _she had to leave her home because of you_ – before he pushed it aside, huffing in apparent annoyance as he shifted on his feet, trying not to notice the way his clothing itched uncomfortably.

He and the other nations had, out of consideration for Italy, donned Italian attire befitting a noble and his household for this trip, but it felt so unnatural to be out of his normal robes that it took everything for the young Empire not to fidget every five seconds.

“Tell me why we’re here again,” he complained, which earned him a disapproving look from the older nation, but also an answer:

“Italy wished to come here on account of some grand unveiling of a newly redecorated church, and once Elizabeta heard about it there was no stopping her. She hounded me at all hours of the day and night for three weeks straight, and when you finally returned from your business in France, I asked you, you said no, Elizabeta mentioned how sad Italy would be when she heard, and here we are. You really need to learn how to say no to a girl; refusing to deny her things is going to get you in a lot of trouble one day.”

Blood rose up in Holy Rome’s cheeks, and he glared venomously at the smirking Austrian. “You’re one to talk! I asked Hungary; it only took three _hours_ for her to convince you to ask me!”

Though he didn’t blush tomato-red like his young ruler, a light tinge of pink came to Austria’s face as he spluttered wordlessly for a moment. Before he could gather himself for a retort, he was cut off by an excited squeal.

“Oh, this whole place is just so lovely~! Your grandfather would be so proud Italia~!” Hungary sang, spinning back to her bosses with the smaller girl in her arms, the pair beaming identically.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Miss Hungary! Just wait ‘til we get to the chapel!” Italy gushed, smile utterly euphoric.

Holy Rome ducked his head, hoping against all hope no one had noticed his already present blush had intensified by about a thousand fold. ‘ _Mein Gott, sie ist schön,_ ’ he thought, trying desperately to school his expression before he could freak her out by accident – again – praying a distraction would present itself.

Luckily, one did; Austria, seeming to take pity on his short master for once, spoke up: “Well let’s get going, shall we? The Pope is allowing us the first peek, right Italy? It would be rude to keep him waiting.”

“Ah! I almost forgot!” Italy gasped, squirming free of Hungary’s grip to land on the ground lightly – for once not tripping over her own feet – and turn away from them and start walking, calling, “It’s this way, hurry up!”

They did as they were told, the other three nations for once listening to the younger’s instructions instead of vice versa.

The chapel was not far from the square they had been; on the outside, it did not seem like anything special. It was the same rustic brown as most of the buildings around it, though Holy Rome did not dare say so aloud; upsetting Italy when she was so happy would perhaps be the greatest blunder of his life, and he didn’t think he would survive the backlash, let alone Hungary’s imminent tongue-lashing.

“Ah, there you are!” A man dressed in fine robes awaited them at the entrance, with an entire entourage of holy men and one or two slightly bedraggled men mixed in. “We were just beginning to worry!”

Italy broke into a run, giggling excitedly, but she bypassed to robed man entirely, instead latching onto the waist of one of the less presentable men, whose eyes were bloodshot and beard, though thoroughly cleaned, was scraggly and unkempt.

He chuckled as the small nation hugged him, reaching down to pat the girl softly on the head as her three guests caught up.

“It is good to see you again, _piccolo fiore._ Have these high and mighty lords and lady been treating you all right?” he asked, ignoring the scandalized looks some of the holy men were sending to them.

“They have been wonderful, Michelangelo! They wanted to see your work too, so I brought them with me; do you mind?” she questioned quickly, grinning up at him guiltily.

“Not at all! Took me four years to paint the damned thing; may as well have people see it, eh?” the renowned painter laughed, grinning at the priests’ aggravated faces.

“Michelangelo-” the robed man who had spoken first started, face turning an interesting shade of red.

“Ah, shut your trap Julius, Italy knows how I am. She and her friends came here to see my work; are you going to get in their way just because I swore a little? _Signore sa che ho detto peggio mentre la pittura-_ ”

“Yes, yes, go ahead and see! It’s no trouble!” Julius quickly cut him off, face even redder than before.

Italy squealed excitedly, darting back to her companions to grab hold of first Hungary’s, then Holy Rome’s hand and began to drag them forward, ignorant of Hungary’s ringing laughter and Holy Rome’s dark blush as she did so. Austria trailed after them, a small smile on his face, as the four of them entered the building.

A hush fell almost instantly as they caught sight of the grand work, tilting their heads back to see the wide expanse covered entirely in paintings the likes of which the world had not yet seen.

“ _Elképesztő,_ ” Hungary murmured, Austria nodding in silent agreement.

Holy Rome, for once not staring at the girl he had unwittingly given his heart to several centuries ago, was also at a loss for words, just barely resisting the urge to allow his jaw to hang open like a simpleton.

“Beautiful huh? I wish I could have helped him with this; the paint drips hurt Michel’s eyes. I don’t think he’ll ever be able to outdo this,” Italy whispered after a moment, a wistful look on her face.

The man in question snorted just behind them, holding no reverence whatsoever for his own work. “I wouldn’t say that, _piccolo fiore._ Julius is already hounding me about painting the wall behind the altar as well. _Rompicoglioni..._ ”

“Really?!” Italy gasped, clasping her hands together pleadingly, “Could I help you with that?! Please?”

Michelangelo grinned widely at her. “I wouldn’t mind at all, but I do believe it’s not my permission you need to be asking for.”

Austria and Hungary shared a knowing look as the maid spun to look directly at her master, eyes wide and pensive, evidently unsure what to say to plead her case.

But Holy Rome was already turned away, eyes fixed resolutely on the ceiling and blushing up a storm. “You’d have to return once a month to attend to your duties in the house. And you won’t be allowed to take as many siestas for two decades,” he said, resolutely not looking at the girl as she gasped in wonder.

“Oh, thank you Holy Rome~! Thank you so much!” she cried, rushing forward to hug him for an instant before being swept up by an overjoyed Hungary.

As the two female nations gushed to each other excitedly, Austria walked over to the short blonde, who looked due to lose consciousness any second. “You really need to learn to say no to girls sometime,” the man sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Shut up,” Holy Rome retorted.

Behind them, Michelangelo snorted.

“ _Idiota non sa nemmeno l'Italia è un ragazzo._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Aaand done! Haha! I never thought I’d figure out what to do, but I did it! In case anyone was wondering, the year is 1512 and they were visiting the Sistine Chapel in Vatican City within Rome. Michelangelo is so chill because his relationship with the church turned to shit after the Pope forced him to finish painting the ceiling despite the strain it put on Michelangelo’s entire body; his eyesight was permanently damaged after his work on the ceiling was finished. I had to look all this stuff up for a speech at school, so this is at least semi-accurate.
> 
> Translations (used google translate, probably not accurate):  
> German: Mein Gott, sie ist schön = My God, she is beautiful.  
> Italian: piccolo fiore = little flower.  
> Hungarian: Elképesztő = Amazing.  
> Italian: Rompicoglioni = pain in the ass.  
> Italian: Idiota non sa nemmeno l'Italia è un ragazzo = Idiot doesn’t even know Italy is a boy.


	6. Love Me Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were one and the same, these who have stolen his heart. So why does it feel like his heart is being ripped in two? [Sequel to 'First']

“Oi.”

“…”

“Fratello.”

“…”

“Dammit, Veneziano, open this fucking door and let me in!”

“… no.”

“Oh, so you can speak now?! Quit screwing around and come out of there!”

“…”

“ _Che,_ fine! Go ahead and rot in there! See if I care!”

A very short-tempered Italian stalked away from the door to the bedroom, absolutely fuming.

He only paused once, at the end of the hallway, but he refused – _absolutely_ refused – to turn back and try to goad his brother out again like he had been all week.

“… Fucking potato bastard,” he hissed, before disappearing around the corner.

* * *

 

Inside the darkened room, a far more depressed Italian simply whimpered and curled into a tighter ball than before, crushing his pillow to his chest.

He knew Romano had been trying to – in his own, curse-ridden way – help, but leaving his room and acting like everything was fine when it in fact was _not_ was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment.

Sulking in the dark was usually the elder twin’s way of dealing with matters of the heart, but Veneziano had figured it was as good a method as any.

He’d had time to process.

Now he just needed a while to accept.

Germany was Holy Rome.

Holy Rome was Germany.

It was such a mind-boggling concept… Italy never would have guessed such a thing before, but looking back it made perfect sense; aside from the now-obvious physical similarities between the two, Germany was created as a result of the dissolution of the Empire into many different lands, and they both shared a near-fanatical obsession with cleanliness and order.

A thousand other parallels between the two flitted through Veneziano’s mind, but he just breathed in shakily, trying not to be swept away in the hurricane of pain that was ripping through his heart.

Where had he been all that time?

Why hadn’t he come back like he promised?

**Why did he forget about me?**

“ _I’ve loved you since the 900’s.”_

‘ _Liar!_ ’ his mind wailed in protest, but the look in his eyes – the pure, _infinite_ devotion that had been both magnificent and terrifying in its intensity – said otherwise.

“ _You wouldn’t happen to be a descendant of Rome, would you?_ ”

Those same eyes, looking at him with contempt and skepticism as he happily confessed to be being Rome’s grandson.

A smile, the barest upturning of lips really, directed at him as he proudly presented his art piece to the household.

The same smile, with a hint of exasperation at the edge, when he tripped over a stone during training and went tumbling down only to pop back up again, for once not sobbing in pain.

A hand in his, trembling the slightest bit as he directed the paint brush across white canvas.

The same hand, shaking his as a paper was signed and an alliance formed.

Same, _same,_ **same, _one and the same,_** the two people who’d unwittingly stolen his heart were the same person.

And they _forgot him._

His grip on the pillow tightened even as the sound of ripping fabric filled the room.

‘ _So… did he mean it when he said he loved me? Or not?_ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Seriously, why is everything I write aaannngggsssttt?! I WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY BUT THIS JUST KEEPS HAPPENING DAMMIT! Also Romano is fun to write. XD  
> For once, no translations! Yay!


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